The Poggi Chronicles
by LeChronicler
Summary: Poggi and his gang travel across the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge in order to unearth the mysteries surrounding Half Life 3, Gaben, and the Trash Masters.
1. Chapter 1

_**The Poggi Chronicles**_

How does one summarize the feats of Matt Poggi in only one book, nay, one trilogy? The answer is simple: you cannot, for he has done things few have ever even thought possible, and prevailed above all. Poggi, flawed as he was, still was able to overcome the implausible, as well as garnering the notoriety one should expect from being such a great man as he. I will not tell you all he has done, for I am just a humble chronicler, but I will try. I will try. Even If I cannot, and most likely I will not, you will know just what kind of a man Poggi wa- no, is.

Take a seat next to me. Is the fire too roaring for you? Is the tea too lemony? Have I forgotten to fluff the armchair again? No? Good, then let me adjust my monocle and we may begin. And where else should we begin then the morning of that fateful day, where Poggi began his most famous journey yet...

 **Chapter I**

It was a day like any other. Poggi had undergone his morning ritual of waking, dressing, and eating. Now, this may seem mundane, but we are not talking about any normal man, no, we are talking about Matt Poggi, and he does not do things like you or I. He is fearless and bold enough to sleep in the nude. Stylish and suave enough to wear his hair in such a manner that he does. Exotic and tasteful enough to eat soy sauce and tater tots for breakfast, where cereal would normally prevail. Ah, yes, even the daily life of Poggi is of a higher level than the commoners of this world, but the story must continue, so I will stick to the details.

If I can recall, it was his...sophomore year in high school, I believe. This meant he was coming of age, soon to own his own car and drive in it thusly. Until then, he bided his time, spending it mostly conversing with his companions, the most notable of which were his trusty sidekick D-Go and his loyal chronicler, myself. It was during then that we had our first encounter with a man that we would later deem 'Old Man Gaben'. It was through the windows of the café, where we were currency feasting on our second breakfast, when I had spotted something oddly peculiar. Up drove an ordinary delivery truck, but its driver was anything but ordinary. As he exited, me and Poggi were stunned; was it really him? Gaben? The one who singlehandedly created Valve from the ashes of despair? It was, and we were certain of it.

Now, most people would run to him for an autograph or a picture, but not us. We both knew that he was the only perosn who knew the whereabouts of the elusive Half Life 3. Sounds strange, I know, but back then, it was a whole different story. See, in the wake of Half Life 2, a sort of...void, was formed. In essense, it was the physical manifestation of the want, no, need, for a sequel to the sequel. Half Life 3 was a dream that was never meant to be, until we stepped in. There was a reason for Gaben not releasing Half Life 3, and we would not rest until we found out what it was. We rushed out, but by then he was gone, as quick as he appeared. In defeat, we returned to the school, waiting for tomarrow.

The next day brought the first step to the puzzle. Something amazing happened that day: the planets alligned, the galaxies collided, and Jerma Rumble 2016 was released a year early. By some twist of fate, Old Man Gaben and Poggi met in the hallways of the school.

"Hi." Was all Poggi said, and all he had to say. Old Man Gaben could see it in his eyes: he was the one. He leaned in closely, and whispered into Poggi's ear. He told him the secrets of Half Life 3. It was an amazing thing, that conversation they had. Poggi became enlightened in the thing sought after by many. 'One more for the books', you're think right now. Oh, how you are wrong, for that was only the beginning. You see, right before Old Man Gaben disappeared into the crowd, he had sworn Poggi to secrecy. Alas! How painfull that was! He knew all he had ever wanted, but couldn't tell anyone about it! Surely there was a way, there had to be, right?There was.

In Poggi's hand, he found a small, Team Fortress 2 crate key, slipped there by Gaben's gentle, caring hands. This was the first piece to the puzzle, and we were about to start putting it together. The next period was when us three met, and there we began studying the key.

"No way, you _met_ him?" D-Go gaped in disbelief, as did I, I should add.

"Yes." Replied Poggi. "And this key is the...key...to discovering why Half Life 3 never happened."

"Such a sad thing, it is." I had spoken. "The people deserve Half Life 3, and we of all people should give it to them."

"Right, but first we need to look at this key for clues, something that could lead us to...the troof." With that, Poggi gingerly placed the key onto the table, and we went about analyzing it. In a matter of minutes, we had found a microscopic inscription at the base of the key.

"I can't read it!" D-Go yelled in frustration.

"But I can." I confidently stated, and with my monocle (Yes, this very one I'm wearing right now) I carefully deciphered the code. "It reads: '41.8902° N, 12.4923° E'"

"It...can't be." Poggi gasped, as he lowered the spectacles that were suddenly on his face in a dramatic movement. "That's...that's..."

"The coordinates of Italy, yes." I answered. "Gaben wants us to go to Italy."

"But **why**!?" D-Go slammed his fist into the table, the shockwave creating a small earthquake down in China.

"Only one way to find out," Poggi stated, looking into the distance. "We'll just have to go there.

And just like that, the journey had begun. Normally, a trip to Italy would be easily solved by buying a plane ticket, but times were changing. The mafia gang known only as 'The Trash Masters' had recently risen to power, and had a complete monopoly on all planes going in and out of Italy. They would only sell tickets in exchange for inforfatioin reguarding Half Life 3, and that was something that we just couldn't spare. Instead, we would have to cross the Trans-Atlantic land bridge, the one that only appears once every decade, on foot. We would travel for days upon days, meeting strangers, battling ferocious beasts, and pretty much just chilling out, adventure style.

Poggi donned his custom-made trench coat, which reached only to his mid-thigh, and exotic black adventuring pants. His shoes were red beauties, lasting through any weather condition and coming out shiny as ever. In his leather sheath, we wielded the mighty Italian Breadstick, which was been growing staler and staler as it was passed down his family, By now, it could bash clean through Burgah Boy and deflect anything from bullets to lizardfire, which had come in handy in his old Hawaii adventuring days.

D-Go wore an everyman's t-shirt, fitted with the brand logo that took up most of the shirt space without paying him anything for the free advertisement. That, and his jeans, made up everything he needed to kick butt and ass alike. Well, that and his pet familiar, Walking Taco, which was a...walking taco. Inside if his jean pockets were serveral tastier-albeit inadimate-tacos. Eating only one gave him the explosive diarrhea needed to take out an armada. He dusted off his shoulders and hoisted up the armchair.

As for me, well, I sat in that armchair. I wore a very distinguished robe, one that even Poggi was jealous of. Now, it may seem strange, but it makes sense when I tell you that I do my best chronicling in my favorite armchair. I would prefer a fire along with it, but I settled for just the armchair. With my free hand, I aligned my monocle into place. This particular monocle, yes, the one I am still wearing, could reflect sunlight, and on occasion moonlight, into a concentrated blast of pure cosmic energy. Plus, it made me look really, really cool.

With all of our things taken care off, we walked off into the sunet, Poggi leading the way, followed by D-Go, who carried me and my armchair without breaking a sweat, as I continued to chronicle the ever-growing feats of Poggi.

In the distance, too far away to see, Ryan, leader of The Trash Masters, stared at us from across the Trans-Atlantic land bridge, his beady, rat-like eyes scanning every detail.

"Donny, send the rats." He commanded, in an awesome Italian mob boss accent. "And bring me anotha' Cuban cigar, will ya?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

It had been several hours since we departed, and we were on the verge of making it to Indiana. In our haste, we had forgotten to pack medical supplies, or rations, or pretty much anything besides our ultra-cool getups. But that was okay, we had Poggi's knowledge with us, and if anyone could live off the land, it was him.

"My pet taco is hungry." D-Go stated abruptly.

"You've got your spare tacos." Poggi replied. "And besides, I don't feel like scavenging through another Olive Garden dumpster right now."

"No, I couldn't. He's on a strict 'no cannibalism' diet. It would give him some serious intestinal issues."

"Which would lead to...?" I asked.

"...taco farts." D-Go stiffly answered. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut.

"By Gaben..." Poggi gasped as he lowed the spectacles which had once again found their way onto his face. "The last thing we need to deal with right now are taco farts. There's got to be something we can do!"

"There is...one thing." I stated. "He can have my ration of breadstick meal."

"But Chronicler! You need the carbs in order to continue chronicling my considerably-cantankerous quest!"

"True, and I'd wish nothing less. Yet still, I believe the taco's wellbeing is in all our best interests." I reached over, firmly grasping the last of the breadstick meals, and tossed it down onto D-Go's walking taco. In a matter of mere seconds it assimilated the entire thing into it's body, becoming noticeably fuller of vim and vigor. D-Go shed a tear as this happened.

"Such a noble man." He praised. "Such a noble sacrifice."

"Yes, but my sacrifice would not have been doable had it not been for Poggi's excellent expertise in dumpster diving."

"TO POGGI!" We cheered as we downed the last of the grape juice we had 'accquired' from a sipping baby. Marching off into the sunset, we contemplated how our journey would play out when we arrived at the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge.

Meanwhile, in Italy, Ryan was overseeing the imminent rat-based assault. His rat eyes reading the rat scout's report of the army's advancements.

"Good, good. My precious rats will soon be upon those despicable scoundrels! And once the mighty Poggi is captured, the secrets of Half Life 3 will be **mine**!" he tilted his head back to release a nastily-evil sneer.

"Uuh, boss?" Evil henchman #2 nervously asked, fearing the wrath of the self-proclaimed rat-king.

"What is it Donny?" Ryan responded, firecting the full gaze of his eyes directly at the speaker, nearly burning a hole through him with his unwavering stare.

"We seem to be missing some rats from the report. I believe they made nests along the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge instead of following orders...and my name's Giovanni, boss."

"No matter. Those rats will surely multiply in a matter of mere months; they will be ready for Poggi if he dares survive my rat attack...and I say your name is Donny. In fact: **EVERYONE, COME! FLOCK TO YOUR RAT-KING!** " In seconds, every member of the Trash Masters had appeared. "You, your name's Donny. And you, your name is also Donny. You know what? _Everyone's_ name is Donny now, aigh't? 'Cept for you, you new name is, ah...Mario."

"Thank you boss!" All the Donnys and Mario cheered.

"Ay Mario, what's yer job here, huh?" Ryan asked, pointing directly at Mario, who was in danger of being burned by the all-powerful rat eyes.

"I...uh...run the rat matinence checks." He replied, unsure of what was to come.

"Not anyone, from now on, you're in charge of the cooking. I want my mostaccioli to come from a Mario, not a Donny."

"But boss, _I'm_ the head cook." Donny asked befuddledly.

"Not anymore you ain't. You're takin' Mario's job now. Enjoy cleaning up after the rats."

"B-boss, I disagree, I-"

"Did you just deny my orders? Did you deny your Rat-King's orders?" Ryan loomed over the shaking figure. "Donny! Take this man to the rat cages. A day in Big Bessie's domain should straighten him out." Donny screamed in fear: nobody had ever gone into Big Bessie's cage and escaped with their prostate intact, and Donny predicted he would not be the first to do so. He was dragged away, kicking and yelling, until Big Bessie's powerful limbs took hold of him. The cage was closed, and Donny returned to his post.

"Crikey!" I yelled out as we passed the state border.

"What is it!?" Poggi hastily asked.

"I sensed something...terrible, happen to a man named Donny. This was the Trash Master's doing, I'm sure of it."

"By Gaben, this means the journey is no longer just about Half Life 3! We'll have to stop the Trash Masters if we ever want to return home with our heads held high!" It was at this point that our plucky trio had fully realized the path ahead. With the Trash Masters taking direct action against Poggi, the quest's danger level had far surpassed 9000, but that was nothing Poggi hadn't faced before. However, nothing could have prepared him for the danger that would soon be upon him.

"No, it can't be! It just can't be!" D-Go stopped and awed in shock and fear as the horizon slowly crept forward like Mr. Sneak Man. It could only be one thing...

"Rats..." Poggi bitterly enunciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

Me, Poggi, and D-Go all stared at the horizon, which crept forwards in tandem with the battlesong being sung by the army of rats. No sooner did they appear than their ominous tune hit our ears.

"Rats, we're rats, we're the rats..." They chanted.

"It can't be..." D-Go said, stunned.

"We prey at night, we stalk at night, we're the rats..."

"But it is," Poggi announced. "Quick, arm yourselves!" We quickly got into position: Poggi at the front, thrusting his long, hard, Italian breadstick at the approaching army, D-Go taking out his poorly-cooked intestine-destroying tacos while his pet taco hid in his logo-infected t-shirt, and me continuing to sit in my favorite armchair, soaking in the evening sun rays.

The platoon marched closer and closer, until stopping just several dozen meters away from us, the rat-like smell pervading our noses. Suddenly, the crowd dispersed, revealing a single rat amidst the rest. But this one was different, more...ratty, than the other rats. As it stalked forwards, we readied ourselves. Once it got close, we could see that this was no ordinary rat.

"The size, the ferocity, could it be-" I injected.

"I'M THE GIANT RAT, THAT MAKES ALL OF THE RULES!" It bellowed, sending the smaller rats into a fury.

"LET'S SEE WHAT KINDS OF TROUBLE WE CAN GET OURSELVES INTO!" They all yelled, than charged forwards, their deadly noses perched high in the air.

Poggi was the first to stike. Swing after swing, he brought down rat after rat. But for ever rat he killed, two more appeared to finish where the dead one left off. They soon surrounded hime and entangled him in their flurry of rat-tails.

"Now D-Go!" He ordered. No sooner did Poggi shout did D-Go take a bite of the rancid taco. It did its job, and then some. Instant tummy trauma led to an internal explosion, sending D-Go rocketing into the sky. "The beauty..." Poggi gasped as he removed his spectacles while still being restrained. D-Go fell back to Earth with a loud Mexican Hat Dance, sending a wave of crap flooding towards the army. The force of the blast disintegrated the rats holding down Poggi, yet Poggi himself was conveniently left unharmed.

We all watched as the waves crashed against the army, and cheered as they were swept away. However, our cheers soon quieted as we saw the wave change direction and move towards us menacingly!

"But...how!?" D-Go yelled in disbelief.

"We couldn't have known..." I explained, begrudgingly. "These rats are the Trash Masters' finest; they wanted to get rid of us quickly. These rats...they are the experts in their field, they know their way around a sewer, and anything inside of said sewer including-"

"Crap." Poggi cursed as the rats surfaced from the waste, hanging ten as they surfed along the wave. "Quick, D-Go, hand me one of your tacos!"

"I can't! Only I can handle and harness the power of these disgusting morsels!" D-Go responded.

"We have no choice! It's do or die! Would you rather do, or die?" Convinced, D-Go slowly handed one of his tacos to Poggi, which I immediately slapped from his grasp.

"Not yet," I said. "My monocle...is ready." Poggi and D-Go exchanged wide-eyed glances, and ran to duck behind me.

"Say it." Poggi told me.

"But I don't wanna!" I snapped. "I like rat, nothing bad with rats

"Just do it®"

"Fiiiine...I'M A' FIRIN' MAH LAZER!" I yelled as the concentrated blast of cosmic energy flew from my face and into the wild wave, bringing it to a boil. Defying gravity, the giant rat leaps from the boiling liquid in pain, and I take my shot. The rat is vanquished as it is blasted far away, landing in the non-Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge-covered Atlantic Ocean. It may be able to survive in the dirty sewers, but not in the relatively-clean waters of the world. As it drowns, the wave dissapates, sending the rats flowing everywhere.

"We did it!" D-Go celebrated, as did we. We found a rat floating along the lukewarm trail, and we soon snatched it up.

"Tell us your plans!" We interrogated the frail rat. "We have slayed your leader!"

"Now I get to be the giant rat, surprise!" In an instant it grew five times its size, and soon, _we_ were the ones being threatened.

"Alright, yeah, that's cool. Yeah. I like rats. Nothin' bad with rats!" We pleaded as we were backed into a corner that was suddenly there. Oddly coincidental for the rats, but nonetheless we were trapped. Both D-Go and Poggi climbed onto my armchair, which was now getting quite full.

"Ok, now I kill you." The new giant rat casually said as it leapt at us. However, we had the luck of Gaben on our side, and the rat's lunge hit my armchair's reclinder, causing the power of the attack to send us flying far to the east. "Nuuuuuu!" The giant rat yelled as we flew far past Ohio, West Virginia, Ohio, Delaware, Maryland, and Ohio, until we reached the foot of the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge. At this point, we began to fall, the annoying effects of gravity taking hold.

Poggi landed first, rolling several times like a trained assassin, until he slowed enough to safely stop. In instant, he reached out and catched me in one hand and D-Go in the other. Though we still came to an abrupt halt, we didn't _technically_ touch the ground, so we survived. D-Go's pet taco saw that it was now safe, and surried away to scavenge, or whatever a sentient taco does on its own. D-Go and Poggi rejoiced, but I wept over the loss of my favorite armchair, no doubt confiscated by what was left of the rat army.

"Don't worry," Poggi comforted me. "The Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge has plenty of native species of wild armchairs, I'm sure you can catch one!"

"Until then," I lamented. "My chronicling just won't be the same." I tightened my robe and started walking on my own for the first damn time in a long time.

"I wonder what secrets the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge holds..." Poggi said, arms on his hips, looking into the sunset, wind blowing his hair back in a funky way. "Onward!" He commanded. "To Gaben!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

We had just set out on the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge, and things were already off to a rocky start. Once again, we were faced with the problem of starvation, and this tiime around, there weren't any Olive Garden dumpsters filled with Breadstick-Meatball sandwiches to scavenge through. Now, at this point one would imagine that the mighty Poggi would know what to do in a situation like this. However, this was unfamiliar territory, and new, never-before-seen dangers could lurk around any c-

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT OH GO-* _THWISH_ *" In an instant D-Go was lifted up by a giant squidtopus, one of the Atlantic ocean's most feared creatures! We were in the more shallow areas of the Trans-Atlantic Land Bridge, so feral sealife was to be expected. Please, take my word for it when I say that it had 7 very tantalizingly-looking tentacles, a sharp beak thing for a mouth, and eyes all around its head, like the Rat King's filthy acne-ridden face. I say this because if you wanted any other description, would would have to search the internet for it, and the only thing that will come from that is a plethora of uncomfortable DeviantArt images. Now, back to the story.

The squidtopus had D-Go in its grasp, and it wasn't hiding its intentions.

"Quick! Before it reproduces a massive army of mighty, miniature Mexicans!" I shouted. Poggi was quick to react, and jumped it hight enough to swing right at the tentacle's joint. One swing was all it took to dislocate the appendage and free D-Go before his emotional scarring had started. The squidtopus howled in anger like that 8-year-old squeaker that played COD that claimed he slept with all the moms. It started thrashing about with its 6 remaining tentacles, spraying water and dirt all around.

"Chronicler, look out!" A warning came from Poogi, who pointing to the incoming tencle, poised to strike me. However, my combat experience paid off; I used a simple technique that has been utilized for generations: walking. As I casually strolled away, the attack slammed on empty ground, or had it? *BWOOSH* And explosion rocked the ground, making another one of the squidtopus' arms useless. Seeing as it was being defeated, the noticeably-less-fierce beast retreated back into its watery domain.

"Thanks for saving me from reproduction." D-Go thanked Poggi. "And Chronicler, what made that explosion?

"Simple," I responded. "I used a bomb-bomb." I held out a number of miniature explosives.

"A bomb-bomb?" Poggi befuddledly asked. "What may those be?"

"A bomb, disguised as a bomb."

"Genious." Remarked D-Go. His pet taco, who had convientiently disappeared when the danger came, suddenly appeared and hopped onto D-Go's shoulder. "And look! The explosion left behind a pile of loot! He pointed to the treasure chest left behind by the bomb-bomb explosion. We eagerly opened it and searched its contents.

"One gold coin, a pile of gunpowder, dirt, dirt, 5 hearty pre-prepared calimari meals, dirt, and one uncommon-type armchair." Poggi listed off its contents. An armchair just my size was pulled out of the tiny chest, which I proceded to beat into a pulp, salvaging 3 units of wood. "C-chronicler! Why would you do that?".

"I've learned a lot from these many seconds of walking, and I've discovered the hidden joys of this method of transportation. And so I would like to explore this a while longer. Also, D-Go needs a rest."

"Órale!" D-Go responded in approval. And so, for the first time in a while, we **all** walking into the distance.

Back at the Trash Master's HQ...

"Open the gates to Big Bessie's domain! Let's see how our disobedient Donny is doin'!" With a nod and a yell, the other Donnys cranked open the titanium gates just high enough for the broken man to desperately crawl through. The look of him struck fear in all Donnys who him: his hair was bitten off, legs contorted and twisted, and there was a giant hole of missing fabric where he used to sit on, because it was unlikely he ever would again.

"Why...?" He managed to sputter out.

" **This!** " The leader of the Trash Masters announced. "This is what happens to those who oppose the Trash Masters! To those who oppose **me** , the Rat King! Glare in fear as you see the penalty for even the slightest misdemeanor! Go now, and write me a 300-page essay on how you plan to benefit me! And Mario, make me some mostaccioli!"

"We're a-out of a-noodles sir! Would you a-like-a Chef Boyardee in-a-stead-a?"

"Curses! Remind me to revoke the rats' pantry priviledges. Now, I'll be stroking my chin in my office with another Cu'ban. Bring me the Boyardee when it's done, huh?"


End file.
